Prescription
by Sarah Serena Rose
Summary: He stared at the orange canister lying innocently next to the bedpost, label exposed to the world. It may have had an alias written on the bottle, but there was no mistaking it. The pills were his brothers. "Citalopram? Dean these are-" "Anti-depressants, I know."


_Title: Prescription  
>Characters: Sam, Dean<br>Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Brotherly Bonding  
>Rating: T (language)<br>Summary: He stared at the orange canister lying innocently next to the bedpost, label exposed to the world. It may have had an alias written on the bottle, but there was no mistaking it. The pills were his brothers.  
>Notes: Takes place sometime mid-season 8. <em>

* * *

><p>He stared at the orange canister lying innocently next to the bedpost, label exposed to the world. It may have had an alias written on the bottle, but there was no mistaking it. The pills were his brothers.<p>

Sam stood frigid in the middle of Dean's room, staring at the vial of pills that had initially caught his eye. Frowning, he walked over and tentatively picked up the bottle.

_Citalopram – 20mg: Take once daily with food. _

It almost slipped from his grasp upon reading what the bottle contained. _Jesus, Dean._

After years of stealing medication from various hospitals and rundown houses, they had learned the names and doses of most medications that were available. But this one sent up red flags. The label said the pills had expired over two years ago, but he could tell there were only a few white capsules left. They had been opened recently, taken recently by the fact that the bottle had been lying beside his brother's bed.

He ran a hand through his slightly unruly hair, having just gotten up and venturing down the hall to see if his brother was up yet. But instead of finding Dean-

Inhaling sharply, Sam swerved around, hand still clamped around the canister, intent on finding his brother.

* * *

><p>Sam stormed out of the hallway, almost slipping on the floorboards in his sock feet, for all intents are purposes, looking like someone had kicked his puppy. Spotting Dean sitting in the map room, legs crossed and feet resting against the tabletop, a cup of coffee in his hands, he made his way over.<p>

"Hey sleeping beauty, 'bout time you got up. There's coffee ready in the kitchen if you want some," Dean called out when he saw his brother approaching, expecting a grunt of acknowledgement in response. His face clouded over when he saw the look on Sam's face; especially when he saw what his brother was holding in his hand, the sound jarring him from his relaxed position.

Sam jerked the container up and down in irritation, "You mind explaining why you have these?"

Dean placed his coffee down on the table and leaned his arms against his legs, shoulders rigid and lips pulled tight in semblance of a smile.

"You mind explaining why you were snooping in my room?"

Sam raised an eyebrow, snorting derisively, "I really don't think that's the problem at hand here."

"I don't know Sammy, your hair's kinda distracting at the moment too," he shot back with a sarcastic grin.

"Jesus, Stop avoiding my question!" Sam bellowed, trying to get his brother to stop acting like such an immature child and answer him.

Dean merely crossed his arms in defiance, staring up into the younger man's eyes without a sound. Sam locked his jaw and tried again.

"_Citalopram_? Dean, these are–"

"– Anti-depressants. I know."

Sam took a step back as if his brother had thrown a punch, hurt flickering across his visage. Dean sat tensely in his chair; face a steel mask of indifference. The exact second Sam had stormed into the room, he knew he was going to be in deep shit. The stony look glazed in his brother's eyes and the rattling of the pill bottle; he was in trouble. Which was why he owned up at Sam's persistent questions. Dean knew his brother wouldn't quit and there was really no use in lying about the pills, the evidence was clutched in Sam's hand.

It was quiet for a few more moments, as silence echoed around the bunker before words would form on his brothers shocked tongue.

"You're taking anti-depressants and you were just so inclined not to tell me?" He finally asked, slamming the bottle onto the table and listening to the pills rattle inside. "What, you don't trust me enough, is that it? I'm your _brother_."

Dean was on his feet, chair skidding backwards in his haste to explain.

"Of course I trust you Sam, you're the only one I _can_ trust!" he shouted in the same snarl that his brother had invoked.

Sam seemed to soften at those words, speaking in a subdued tone, "Why didn't you tell me you were taking them then? I don't understand why you'd try and hide it."

Dean sighed, avoiding his brother's imploring gaze. "I can't – it's just…"

"Please. I want to make sense of this and I can't unless you explain it Dean."

_I need to know why you felt like you couldn't trust me._

The older man ran a hand over his face and sat back down in the previously vacant seat. Dean grit his teeth together, agitation obvious in his tense stature. He had tried so hard to keep this from Sam, knowing his brother would worry over him constantly. And that wasn't the way things worked, _he_ was the oldest. _He_ was the one who did the worrying, always had and always would.

"Dean?" his brother prompted.

Again, doing his best to avoid Sam's gaze, he let out a sigh and fought for resolve before explaining. Hoping Sam would understand his reasons for keeping it a secret.

"I couldn't let you know Sammy, I couldn't. This was the one thing I should've protected you from, about how fucked up I truly was. That if you knew, you wouldn't look at me like I was still your annoying, asshole of a big brother."

Running a hand through his hair, Dean continued, "This was…different. It wasn't something physically wrong with me that could be fixed with stitches, a couple Tylenol and a shot of Jack."

Sam pulled a chair out and sat next to his brother, their knees knocking together.

"Dude, you'll always be my asshole of a big brother and I mean that in a good way. This," he gestured a hand towards the canister lying on the table, "Doesn't change things between us. Dean, trust me when I say this, I don't care that you take anti-depressants. It will never change the way I perceive you, but I would have liked to at least _known._"

Sighing, he continued in a more reflecting manner, "After all the crap that's happened, I can't say I'm surprised, but you still should have told me."

Dean smirked, nodding, "You almost caught me though, I don't know how many times I left my duffle open and expected you to see them lying in plain sight. Almost flipped shit a few times too."

At the flippant, but amused tone, Sam assessed his brother with a grin of his own. But there was one last thing nagging in the back of his mind.

Dean glanced up at his brother, noticing there was still something on his mind by the way he twitched his lips to the side. Rubbing the back of his neck he muttered, "We good?"

Sam nodded, "Yeah we're good. But…ah." He bit his tongue, not wanting to bother his brother with more questions, but Dean just playfully rolled his eyes.

"Get on with it geek-boy, I don't know how long I'm going to last in such an estrogen filled environment."

"Shud' up," was all he heard in return, eliciting another smile from his brother. But Sam continued, tilting his head in contemplation. "So. How long?"

Dean flinched then, knowing the answer wasn't going to please his brother. "On and off for about twelve years."

He saw Sam's face change, contort into sorrow. "After I left for Stanford. God, Dean." He covered his mouth with a hand, jaw tense.

"Sammy, it wasn't your fault. I promise you. I was pretty screwed up to begin with, probably should have started taking them earlier to be honest. You've seen me at my lows, s'not hard to tell when I'm not on them."

Sam sucked in a breath and eyed his brother. "Christ. I know you've been depressed a few times, hard not to be concerning our past, but I didn't think it was that bad. God-"

"-Hey, it's not your fault bro. I didn't tell you for a reason, 'cause I knew you'd try and blame yourself."

"It's not that Dean, well okay part of it is, but I should have known. I should have noticed my own _brother-"_

Dean leaned forward and rested a hand on his little brother's knee to ease his turmoil, "It's fine man, really. I'm still here, you're here and I'm probably the happiest I've been in months-hell maybe years. We've got a roof over our heads, something solid and stationary, friends even. I'm not willing to give that up, not now, not ever. So get those panties untwisted little bro…"

Sam let out a low groan. "Gross dude."

Dean smiled at the response, squeezing Sam's knee before letting go. Though he might not be okay a hundred percent of the time, he knew things would always be better with his brother by his side.


End file.
